All The Time That We Wasted
by UnicornJones
Summary: Blaine has a good thing going with Kurt, or so he keeps trying to tell himself. But is domestic bliss all it's cracked up to be? Futurefic. Chapter 11: Blaine is determined to make it big, but obviously nothing goes as planned.
1. September

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rated M for language, sex.

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><p>Blaine was, without a doubt, in a funk. He was in a funk, despite the crisp fall air that seemed to invigorate with every breath and the vibrant oranges and yellows beginning to dot the leaves on the tree-lined streets around the idyllic suburban home he shared with his husband Kurt. The season put Kurt in a playful, romantic mood, but Blaine found it impossible to get in the spirit as the couple took their regular evening walk through the neighborhood.<p>

"Ahh, I just love the sound of leaves crunching under my feet," Kurt sighed, wrinkling his nose into a truly adorable expression. "Don't you?"

"Mmmm," was Blaine's noncommittal reply.

"Oh Blaine, what's the matter?" Kurt asked.

"I don't know," he said, frowning as he realized he truly didn't.

"C'mon, let's go home and have some tea."

A bright yellow school bus came rumbling past, interrupting the peaceful scene. It was empty of its precious cargo, but the sight was still enough to trigger one of Kurt's domestic fantasies.

"Just think, Blaine, maybe someday we'll be putting kids of our own on that bus. Packing their lunches, making sure they remembered their homework…"

"Yeah, maybe," Blaine said, more in surrender than in agreement. He had his own ideas about educating their potential future children, but he definitely wasn't in the mood to discuss them now.

As he and Kurt returned to the house, the catalogs splashed with prominent back-to-school advertisements strewn across the coffee table combined with the recent bus encounter to trigger, for the first time, a question in Blaine's mind: had he peaked in high school?

Although he certainly wasn't a stereotypical jock gone to seed, the fact remained that at Dalton, and at McKinley, Blaine had been almost universally recognized as the shit, and things had been going slowly but steadily downhill since then. Sure, he did his share of drinking and partying at NYU, but any potential for sexual exploration was seriously dampened by his very committed and serious long-term relationship with Kurt, who was an inarguably perfect boyfriend. While Kurt actually achieved moderate off-Broadway success once the pair graduated, Blaine remained unable to land a steady gig. Finances became a more and more pressing issue, and he found that his enthusiasm for the artist lifestyle faded as the cupboards emptied and the bills came due.

What Blaine longed for more than anything else was security, and so after numerous heated conversations and tense, silent evenings (but never a night sleeping on the sofa; Kurt refused to go to bed angry), he convinced Kurt to take a teaching job at a small college upstate. As a compromise, Blaine agreed to look for a real job that would generate steady income, and he found one easily enough once he gave up the idea of getting paid to do what he loved and accepted that performing would never be more than a hobby.

So he punched the clock at Ithaca Insurance, 9 to 5 Monday through Friday spent sitting in a cubicle fielding calls from customers who wanted to save money on car insurance, or pet insurance, or RV insurance. Really it was only half a cubicle, the three-foot-high wall not nearly tall enough to shield him from loudmouth Lindsay in the next stall over. She was always having some mind-numbing conversation with her boyfriend, whose name, as far as Blaine could tell, was either "Sweetie" or "Asshole." On the days they fought, Blaine would have given anything for the top half of that cubicle wall.

But it wasn't bad, really. He got health insurance, even dental, and 10 paid vacation days a year. And at the end of the day he got to go home to his sweet, considerate husband and make sweet, considerate love in the candlelit bedroom as jazz music played softly in the background. Afterwards Kurt would nestle under Blaine's arm with a sigh of contentment and fall asleep with a smile on his face, leaving Blaine to stare futilely into the darkness and try to box out the doubts threatening to flood the empty, silent space. This was a good thing he had going, Blaine tried to tell himself.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice jolted him out of his reverie.

"Hmm?"

"Did you even hear what I said?"

"No, sorry," Blaine admitted. "I must have spaced out."

"Well I can't say I blame you," said Kurt. "Conan was definitely off his game tonight." Kurt planted a gentle kiss on Blaine's lips, preventing him from confessing that he had also spaced out through dinner, and_ The X Factor_, and the local news.

"Are you ready to go to bed?" Kurt asked in a tone that was slightly huskier than his normal voice, letting Blaine know there was jazz music in his near future.

Blaine nodded his consent and followed Kurt into the bedroom. He allowed Kurt to undress him, assisting when required and mechanically reciprocating Kurt's acts of affection. After being together for so long, Blaine knew he could get Kurt off without even thinking about it, and a telltale twitch in Kurt's boxers demonstrated that his ministrations were already proving effective.

Blaine's own erection was on full display as Kurt lay down on the bed and prepared himself. After a perfunctory kiss on the lips that left Kurt gasping for more, Blaine swiftly and unceremoniously penetrated him. Kurt's mouth opened and his eyes lit up, but as usual he remained almost eerily quiet, letting out only a soft cry to punctuate each of Blaine's thrusts. Blaine stopped immediately once he was spent, rolling onto his back and breathing hard as he listened to Kurt finish himself off.

"I love you," Kurt said breathlessly.

"I love you too," Blaine replied absently, already steeling himself against the dark.

* * *

><p>AN: Uhm yeah IDK about this one so def let me know what you think. I kind of have the whole thing planned out in my head, and it's mostly just really sad. So that should be fun. K byeeeee.


	2. October, Part One

"No, sweetie. No, that's what I'm trying to tell you, it's— Oh, c'mon sweetie. Don't be like that. I told you— Ok, fine. Asshole." _Beep_.

Blaine snapped his head back toward his computer screen and tried his hardest to pretend he hadn't just been eavesdropping on Lindsay's conversation, one of many recent heated discussions with her boyfriend on company time. But the act was in vain; she knew exactly what he was doing and turned toward him, fortunately not seeming upset in the least.

"Men, right?" she said rhetorically. "Wait, what do you know?"

"Actually, I—" Blaine began to say; there was something warm about her, or maybe it was the fact that he didn't really have anyone else to talk to, but Lindsay interrupted him before he could spill his guts.

"You're cute," she decided, cocking her head to one side and twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Love the bow tie. You could go a little easier on the gel, though. Come to my party this weekend? Wear a costume. Bring a friend. No, don't. Bring a friend, that is. Do wear a costume. Actually, do whatever you want. Man, I need a cigarette. Want one?"

"No thanks; I don't smoke," Blaine managed to reply.

"Of course you don't," Lindsay said with a smile as she got up to leave. "See you later, sweetie."

* * *

><p>Blaine supposed he had lied to Lindsay about not smoking purely out of habit; he had been keeping his vice a secret from Kurt ever since he had picked it up sometime after college, so the phrase just slipped out naturally. Not that the subject had ever come up between him and Kurt, who had no reason to suspect anything.<p>

It was strange how easily the lie had simply become a part of him, Blaine mused as he sat in his car parked down the street from the house and nursed a cigarette. He took a slow drag, watching the glow of the ashes move closer to his fingers and wishing the paper was filled with marijuana instead of tobacco. He had only gotten high a couple of times, but the memory of the blissful apathy he had experienced stayed with him.

Blaine was sure he could get some weed if he really wanted to, probably even at Lindsay's party… which he was definitely not going to attend, he reminded himself. She was almost certainly planning on using him to make her boyfriend jealous, and even if he had wanted to get drunk with crazy, loudmouthed Lindsay and her probably equally crazy, loudmouthed friends, there was no way he'd be able to talk Kurt into it.

Having smoked his cigarette down to the filter, Blaine tossed the butt out the car window, popped a Tic-Tac, and spritzed some Febreeze. Then he headed home.

"Ugh, Blaine, why do you always smell like a linen closet when you get home from work?" Kurt asked as Blaine moved in for a greeting kiss, turning his head so the kiss landed on his cheek instead of his lips.

Blaine shrugged. "I prefer to think of it as the sweet smell of success, actually."

"Dinner's in the oven," Kurt said, ignoring Blaine's sarcasm. "Tandoori chicken. But hurry up and get in the shower, you've got to get ready for karaoke!"

"Tonight's Tuesday," Blaine realized.

"Oh, don't pretend you haven't been plotting your set list since last Tuesday," Kurt said as he checked the oven. "Now go!"

* * *

><p>Blaine sat quietly at the corner table he shared with Kurt and a couple of his professor friends, nursing a beer. He tried to enjoy it, since it would likely be his last of the still-young night; Kurt had learned his lesson with regards to Blaine's bad drunk decision making early and now imposed a strict two-drink limit.<p>

There was a smattering of applause as a giggling drunk girl stumbled off the stage and back to her giggling friends. Then the emcee, a sleazy looking used car salesman type who was more than a little tipsy himself, announced the next singer.

"Kurt Hummel, come on down!"

"That's me!" Kurt exclaimed as he stood.

"Break a leg," Blaine said, watching Kurt haphazardly make his way toward the stage.

"This song is dedicated to the love of my life," Kurt announced once he had the microphone in hand, "Blaine."

Blaine forced a smile as the opening strains of "Happy Together" began to play through the cheap sound system, and immediately felt guilty for his lack of genuine enthusiasm. He tried to remember what it was like to be in love with Kurt, the strange stirring of something deep within his chest when he heard Kurt sing, or when they first kissed, or when they first made love. He tried to will the feeling to return now, but it seemed hopelessly lost.

_I can't see me lovin' nobody but you, for all my life_, Kurt sang, blissfully unaware of Blaine's inner turmoil.

Blaine tossed back the rest of his beer and ordered another, two-drink limit be damned. It wasn't like one more would really hurt, and Kurt seemed too busy milking the crowd and gearing up for the rousing final chorus to notice.

The applause was a little louder as Kurt skipped back to the table after his performance, cheerfully tipsy. "So how was I?" he asked.

"Brilliant," Blaine replied with a dutiful peck on the cheek. A commotion on stage drew the pair's attention, as a very drunk frat boy who was apparently celebrating his 21st birthday prepared to sing and his bros encouraged him. A familiar set of opening chords filled the air, making Blaine suddenly feel very sick.

_Just a small-town girl, livin' in a lonely world…_

"I'm gonna go get some air," Blaine said, making his exit before Kurt decided he needed to tag along and make sure he was alright.

_He took the midnight train goin' anywhere..._

Blaine inhaled sharply as he stepped outside, the cold air and the quiet providing welcome relief from the stuffy, noisy bar. The sidewalk was populated by a few smokers, huddled in groups of two or three. Blaine lit his own cigarette, feeling much calmer after a drag or two.

"Hey sweetie, I thought you didn't smoke."

Blaine peered through the dark at the crowd, searching in vain for the source of the voice. He realized it should have been obvious when Lindsey stepped forward into the light of the streetlamp. She was shockingly less obnoxious after a few drinks.

"Well, I didn't, but then all the other kids were doing it, so…"

"Peer pressure," Lindsay nodded, poker-faced.

"Exactly," Blaine said, matching her mock-serious tone. "They always teach you to 'just say no,' but it's much easier said than done."

"Very true," Lindsay agreed.

"It's crazy seeing you here; I never figured you for a karaoke fan," Blaine said.

"Yeah, I'm a sucker for amateur covers of terrible pop songs," she admitted. "But what about you? You're always so…" She pinned her arms to her side and stood up perfectly straight, imitating Blaine's stiff posture.

To his own surprise, Blaine actually let out a chuckle. "Just stick around; I do a mean Britney Spears."

"No kidding," Lindsey said, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

There was a lull; Blaine could feel himself beginning to sober up. "Well, I should probably—"

"Oh my god, you have to meet my friend," Lindsay said almost simultaneously, dragging over a tall, dark figure she had plucked out of the crowd. "Blaine, this is—"

But this time it was Blaine who got to do the interrupting, as he recognized the face immediately. "Sebastian."

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><p>AN: OMG cliffhanger ahhhh! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing; if you have any likes/dislikes/questions/comments def holla back at me :)


	3. October, Part Two

"Well well well," Sebastian said with the same devilish smile Blaine remembered from so many years ago. "Blaine Anderson. You haven't aged a day, have you?"

Despite his best efforts, Blaine could feel a slight flush rising to his cheeks.

"Still playing the innocent schoolboy, I see," Sebastian observed.

"You look good," Blaine finally managed to say. It was an understatement; Sebastian was as tall and rakishly handsome as ever, with the same shameless, piercing gaze that made Blaine's stomach flip-flop.

"Oh my god, you guys know each other?" Lindsay's interjection startled Blaine, who had forgotten she was present. "That's awesome! Well, I'll let you two catch up then. I'm freezing my ass off out here." She scurried to the door only to stop short once she got there. "I almost forgot!" she shouted back. "You're coming to my party, right Sebastian?"

"Wouldn't miss it, darling!" Sebastian assured her.

"Good. Bring him!" she instructed, pointing at Blaine. "My god, if there was ever a guy who needed to cut loose…" If there was an end to Lindsay's sentence, it was cut short as she reentered the building and left Blaine and Sebastian alone.

"Wow, you really haven't changed," Sebastian marveled.

"I guess not," Blaine shrugged uncomfortably, eager to change the subject. "So, how do you know Lindsay?"

"She's a former student."

"Student? So you're a teacher."

"Professor."

"Music?"

Sebastian shook his head. "English. Poetry, mostly."

"Oh." There was a pause as Blaine racked his brain for another question, but his earlier alcohol consumption was definitely taking its toll on his mental capacities.

"Want to grab a drink?" Sebastian suggested.

"No," Blaine replied a little too quickly, drawing a raised eyebrow from Sebastian. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Boyfriend?"

"Husband," Blaine confessed.

"No shit! Who's the lucky guy? Anyone I might know?"

"Yes."

Sebastian's demeanor changed from one of amusement to dismayed concern. "Not—"

"Yes."

"I can't believe you married Gayface Hummel. Huh."

The insult combined with Blaine's steadily increasing sobriety to tip his attitude toward his former acquaintance from charitable to annoyed. "Goodbye, Sebastian," he said definitively, and headed back inside. He didn't have to look back to know the smug smile Sebastian would have on his face when he called back to Blaine.

"See you around…"

* * *

><p>"A Halloween party?" Kurt said with disgust when Blaine suggested the idea over dinner the next night. "Ugh, no thank you. Beer pong and trashy girls dressed up like sluts; it just seems so… high school."<p>

"There will be no beer pong," Blaine assured him.

"What about sluts?"

"Well…" Blaine shrugged.

"Like I said, no thank you."

"But it's Halloween! It'll be fun."

"Why do you want to go?" Kurt asked. "This doesn't seem like your kind of thing at all."

"Maybe not," Blaine admitted, "but it'll give us a chance to meet some new people, make new friends. We've been living here for almost six months and I hardly know anyone. Please?" he begged, putting on his best sad-puppy face.

"Oh, alright," Kurt agreed, unable to resist Blaine's expression. "But I get to pick the costumes."

* * *

><p>"Hey sweetie!" Lindsay exclaimed, greeting Kurt and Blaine at the door. "Who's your friend? Love the costumes. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?"<p>

"Sherlock Holmes," Blaine corrected Lindsay, seeing that Kurt was still trying to recover from her opening barrage of chatter. "Actually, I'm Dr. Watson. He's Holmes."

"Oh, cool," she replied unfazed. "Well, come on in! We're just about to start beer pong."

Kurt shot Blaine an icy stare.

"We'll pass," Blaine said quickly. "On the pong, at least. I could use a beer, though."

"Sure," Lindsay said. "In the kitchen," she added, pointing them in the right direction before heading off to mingle with her other guests. "Have fun!"

Blaine forged a path through the crowded room to the doorway Lindsay had indicated, Kurt following closely behind. "Oooh, a keg!" he exclaimed on arrival.

"What?" Kurt asked in dismay, peering over Blaine's shoulder.

"Just kidding," Blaine assured him. "See? They even have wine. Want some?"

"No thanks," Kurt said, wrinkling his nose at the array of boxes Blaine was referring to. Blaine grabbed a beer for himself and they returned to the living room, where the pong tournament was just getting underway. Lindsay and a tan, muscular gorilla Blaine assumed was her boyfriend were crushing the competition, a sexy nurse and a sexy maid who had already drained all but one of their cups.

Blaine wasn't sure what Lindsay was supposed to be; she wore a tight, short black dress and large hoop earrings and had teased her hair to an alarming height. Surveying the rest of the room, he found that Kurt's suspicions had been right: very few of the costumes seemed to be in good taste. But he wished his own costume was a bit less stuffy; the room was getting more crowded and hotter by the moment and he found his three-piece suit increasingly stifling.

Loosening his neck tie seemed to help a little as Blaine continued to scan the room. He thought he recognized a couple of co-workers, but no one he was really interested in striking up a conversation with. For some reason his gaze kept returning to the door.

"Can we go now?" asked a thoroughly bored Kurt.

"Already? We just got here," Blaine replied. "Besides, you don't want to miss the opportunity to show off your costume."

The appeal to his fashion sense was all it took to cheer Kurt up. "I do look fabulous, don't I?" he said, even executing a little half-twirl to show off his deerstalker cap and capelet ensemble.

"As always," Blaine assured him, finishing his drink. "I'm gonna find the restroom. Will you be okay here?"

"I guess," Kurt said. "Maybe there will be a murder mystery for me to solve…" he added good-naturedly, brandishing his magnifying glass.

"Great," Blaine said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "Be right back."

The line for the bathroom was long, as Blaine had anticipated. But it didn't seem to be moving at all, and was that vomiting he heard coming from inside? He decided to abandon that option and explore the house for another. An unlit staircase leading to an equally dark upper level seemed promising, but Blaine was only halfway up the stairs when he heard a voice call up after him.

"Hey!"

Blaine tried to identify the source of the voice, but in the dark could only make out a silhouette. "Sorry, am I not supposed to be up here? I was just looking for a bathroom."

"No, you," the figure said, ascending the staircase, "are exactly where you're supposed to be." He stopped one step below Blaine, who finally recognized the face of—who else?—Sebastian Smythe.

"Prince Charming, I presume," Blaine said, referring to the elaborately embroidered jacket, ruffled shirt and tights ensemble that Sebastian was currently pulling off in a way that Blaine could never dream of.

"Casanova," Sebastian corrected him. "And you are?"

"Elementary, my dear…"

"Watson," Sebastian finished. "Ah yes, I believe I saw your counterpart downstairs, examining a houseplant with a magnifying glass."

"That sounds about right," Blaine admitted.

"Well, this is just the saddest thing I've ever seen," Sebastian said, sizing Blaine up.

"Oh, c'mon, it's a pretty good costume."

Sebastian smirked, then leaned in close enough to make Blaine's heart skip a beat. "You're not a sidekick," he said and continued up the stairs. Blaine followed without a second thought.

"Bathroom's through there," Sebastian said once they reached the top, flipping on the light to reveal the master suite.

"Thanks," Blaine said and excused himself. Once inside he spent a long moment in front of the mirror, shocked to discover that he didn't look nearly as flustered as he felt, although the harsh overhead light did no favors for the dark circles under his eyes. He was less shocked to find Sebastian still standing in the bedroom doorway when he emerged.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sebastian said, blocking the door as Blaine tried to pass.

"Back downstairs," Blaine said, "to my husband."

Sebastian smiled, as always: an eternal invitation to join in on a never-ending series of private jokes, or a secret game. His eyes told a different story, though, so full of hot passion that Blaine found himself unwilling to meet his gaze.

"I don't know who you think you're fooling with this whole suburban Stepford act," Sebastian said, "but it's not me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like I said, you can drop the act. Now look me in the eye and tell me you didn't come here tonight on the off-chance that I might make an appearance."

Blaine remained silent.

"That's what I thought," Sebastian said, moving in closer. For a wild, stomach-churning second Blaine thought he was going to kiss him, but Sebastian stopped just short, their faces only inches apart. Sebastian's hot breath smelled like cinnamon.

"You're bored, Blaine," Sebastian said, his voice dropping low. "Anyone could see it in your eyes. You're bored out of your mind, but you won't do anything about it because you're too scared." He lingered there a moment, daring Blaine to prove him wrong, but Blaine just looked away.

Sebastian leaned back against the door frame, not making any effort to underplay his satisfaction at being right. Blaine took the opportunity to make his escape. "Call me when you get sick of not being able to sleep at night," he said. Blaine headed down the stairs, Sebastian's words ringing in his head.

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><p>AN: Thanks for waiting for this chapter so patiently! I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I got a question from bluecharlotte about whether this is actually a Blaine/Sebastian fic and I wanted to answer publicly/solicit feedback: I filed this story under Blaine/Kurt because I feel like the overall emphasis is/will be on developments in their relationship, and Sebastian is really just like the perfect foil to Kurt. So does that work or is it to misleading? Like I said I am definitely open to suggestions! K thnx luv u bye.


	4. November

The fluorescent lights of the office never seemed harsher to Blaine than they did the next Monday, and the inane chattering of his coworkers never seemed louder. He hadn't gotten much sleep Saturday night, or Sunday night, and it was all he could do to rub his exhausted eyes, sigh, and not yell at Lindsay to please shut the fuck up for once in her life.

As Blaine was resting with his head in his hands, he sensed the faint rumbling that meant his supervisor, Larry—balding, overweight, wearing suspenders that were clearly necessary but not fashionable—was making his way over.

"Alright, Anderson?" Larry asked.

"Yes, sir," Blaine replied, straightening up.

"Not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Got a project for you," Larry informed him, dropping a thick stack of papers on Blaine's desk.

The stack, easily a foot high, landed with a thud that made Blaine wince.

"You know where the shredder is, right?" Larry asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Shred these. And remember, no more than five pages at a time or you'll jam it. And then you'll have to fix it."

"I'll get on that right away, sir," Blaine said, but Larry was already walking away.

Lindsay shot Blaine a sympathetic look as he hoisted the papers and made his way to the work room, where at least he could be alone –with an even more mundane task than usual and only thoughts of Saturday night's happenings to occupy him. Determined not to go there, Blaine tried to focus on the task at hand. Ever the perfectionist, he shuffled through the pages—old client information, from the looks of it—to count out five, tapped them on the tabletop once to align the edges, and fed them through the machine, which made a whirring sound as it shredded them: _shuffle, tap, whirr_. The routine lost its novelty quickly, and Blaine's mind inevitably wandered.

He hadn't even told Kurt about seeing Sebastian at Lindsay's party, or at karaoke for that matter. He didn't really know why; it wasn't like he had anything to hide.

_Shuffle, tap, whirr._

Kurt might even be amused to hear about his former rival's current exploits, now that he had safely put a ring on it with Blaine.

_Shuffle, tap, whirr._

Blaine knew that wasn't true even as he thought it; Kurt had always been the jealous type, and honestly Sebastian just wasn't very nice.

_Shuffle, tap, whirr_.

He was sexy, though, effortlessly seductive in a way that Kurt, despite his many other wonderful qualities, would never be.

_Shuffle_.

The slight rasp in his smoothly confident voice.

_Tap_.

Those smoldering eyes.

_Whirr_.

And yes, the fucking smirk.

_Shuffle_.

That fiery scent of cinnamon when they stood so close together.

_Tap_.

Would it have tasted like cinnamon too? If Blaine had just leaned in and…

_Whirr-click_.

A new sound from the shredder interrupted Blaine's train of thought. He looked down and saw that it was definitely jammed. Perfect.

After tracking down a pair of needle-nose pliers in one of the metal work room cabinets, Blaine removed the top of the machine and set to work extracting the mangled shreds of paper with a sigh. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>"Hello, darling!" Kurt greeted Blaine cheerfully as ever when he arrived home. "How was work?"<p>

"Oh, you know," Blaine said vaguely. "Work."

"Aww, poor baby," Kurt sympathized, offering a kiss on the cheek as consolation. "Well, this should cheer you up: I made sushi," he added, proudly indicating the colorful spread of rolls arrayed on the dining room table.

"Wow," Blaine said with all the enthusiasm he could muster, "it looks great."

"Yeah, well, no need to thank me," Kurt said playfully. "I already know I'm like, the greatest husband ever. Aside from you, of course."

"Oh, come on," Blaine replied, looping his arms around Kurt's neck and pulling him close, "I could only dream of being half the husband you are."

Any rejoinder from Kurt was stifled when Blaine kissed him fiercely on the mouth for a long moment, eyes closed tight as he willed himself to feel a passion that just wouldn't come.

* * *

><p>"Are you happy?" Kurt asked Blaine across the dinner table.<p>

"Of course," Blaine replied automatically. "Why?"

"You just seem…distant," Kurt decided on. "Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"And you would tell me if there was something wrong?"

"Yes."

Kurt eyed Blaine for a moment and decided not to pursue the topic further. "I love you."

"Love you too," Blaine said with a quick smile, popping a California roll in his mouth. "Mmm, great sushi. Thanks, Kurt."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

><p>"Sorry," Blaine said as the pair lay in bed that night, jazz still playing in the background. "I'm just so exhausted, and—"<p>

"It's fine," Kurt interrupted, "really." He cut the music, and the silence was deafening.

"Are you sure you don't want to try—"

"No," Kurt cut him off again. "It's okay. We should both just get some rest. Good night, Blaine."

"Good night."

Blaine rolled onto his side, facing away from Kurt until he heard the slow, steady breathing that meant his husband was fast asleep. He felt a twinge of jealousy that sleep came so easily to Kurt, when it had been eluding Blaine for so long. He stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, his anger and frustration steadily rising to a boil. Sebastian's words came to his mind unbidden: _Call me when you get sick of not being able to sleep at night_.

Blaine tried not to think about what he was doing as his hand slipped quietly under the covers, because if he thought about it, he would be disgusted with himself. His cock twitched at his touch, the arousal that had been so elusive earlier coming easily now as he thought of his encounter with Sebastian, standing so close together in that doorway, the air full of electric potential.

Blaine cleaned up after himself, panicking for a moment when he heard Kurt stir and thought he had woken him, but he was still sound asleep and soon, so was Blaine.

* * *

><p>AN: Okay well I hope y'all are still enjoying this even though it's prolly a little different; I guess I'm looking at it as more of a character study for Blaine than any sort of romantical thing with either Kurt or Sebastian. Cuz really, there's plenty of that floating around already. So I don't want to give away too much re: "endgame," but hopefully it's fairly obvious that there's not really a happy ending in sight. As always I welcome any kind of feedback and I'll try to address any questions you have as best I can! Thanx for reading! xoxo


	5. December, Part One

There was no question about it: Blaine was definitely coming down with something. It wasn't a full-blown cold yet, but he could feel the pressure in his sinuses and the tickle in the back of his throat that meant something worse was coming. Still, his alarm clock was relentless, reminding him that there was no rest for the working man. He coughed drily as he rolled over to silence it.

"Are you alright?" Kurt asked, coming back into the bedroom freshly showered.

"I'm fine," Blaine replied as he attempted to get out of bed.

"Oh, no you don't," Kurt said, feeling Blaine's forehead for a fever. "You're burning up."

"I have to go to work," Blaine protested feebly.

"You have to call in sick," Kurt insisted, "or else it will only get worse. Just rest today, eat some chicken noodle soup, and you'll be good as new by tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. I'll get you all set up before I leave, and I'll come home right after class. Oh wait, there's a department meeting this afternoon… but I can skip that, I guess."

"No, it's fine," Blaine said. "I'll probably be lousy company anyway. "

"Alright, if you're sure. But you have to promise to call me if you need anything."

"I will."

* * *

><p>By mid-morning, with nothing to distract him but <em>The Price Is Right<em> reruns and feeling miserable, Blaine was already restless.

"Fuck it," he said out loud, turning off the tv right in the middle of the showcase showdown.

After showering and dressing, he assessed himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door and decided he really didn't look sick at all. He toyed with the idea of going into work, but it seemed pointless since he had already called in. Why waste a perfectly good day off?

An idea trickled into the corner of Blaine's mind and he held it there, not allowing himself to overthink what he was about to do. He wondered briefly if all the cold medicine he had taken was affecting his judgment, but pushed that thought aside too as he grabbed his keys and left.

* * *

><p>On-campus parking was sparse in the freezing dead of winter, so Blaine took the first spot he found and decided to navigate on foot, periodically consulting the campus map he had pulled up on his phone. By the time he found the right building, his nose and ears stung with the cold. Once he was inside it was easy; he simply consulted the directory outside the department office, found the name he was looking for, and went off in search of the proper room.<p>

The door was slightly ajar when he got there, but Blaine knocked anyway.

"My office hours aren't for another thirty minutes," Sebastian said without looking up from his book, "you can come back then."

"I'm not here for office hours," Blaine said, stepping inside.

Sebastian met his eyes and, inevitably, smirked. "What are you here for, then? Are you stalking me?"

"You told me to call you," Blaine reminded him. "But I didn't have your number, so…"

"Here you are," Sebastian finished. He was silent for a moment, enjoying Blaine's obvious discomfort.

"I'm sorry, this was a bad idea," Blaine apologized, turning toward the door. "I'm gonna go now."

"Actually, I'd say this was the first good idea you've had in a long time," Sebastian said, stopping Blaine in his tracks. "Want to grab some coffee?"

* * *

><p>The coffee shop Sebastian drove them to was a far cry from both the Lima Bean of Blaine's youth and the little place near the office he sometimes frequented. Whereas those shops had a relaxed, unassuming atmosphere, everything about this one—from the postmodern artwork to the lounge-ish furniture to the bored-but-stylish baristas—put Blaine ill at ease. It was all very slick, and Sebastian seemed right at home.<p>

"I would ask how things are going," Sebastian said once they had gotten their drinks and found a table with a view out the shop's picture window, "but I think I already know the answer."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Subtlety was never your strong suit, Blaine," Sebastian pointed out, taking a sip of coffee and waiting patiently for Blaine to speak his mind.

"Kurt would kill me if he knew I was here talking to you," he finally said.

"I'm not going to tell him," Sebastian replied. "Are you?"

Blaine looked out the window, where a gentle snow was beginning to fall on the quiet street. "I should."

Sebastian shook his head and smiled at the typically noble gesture. "Isn't that how you ended up like this? By always doing what you should?"

"Is there something wrong with that?" Blaine asked, mildly offended at the suggestion.

"Evidently," Sebastian said. "Why else would you be here with me instead of at home with him?"

Blaine sighed. "Kurt is wonderful."

"But…" Sebastian prompted.

"But nothing. He's kind and sweet and—"

"Look, I didn't come here to listen to you gush about your perfect husband," Sebastian interrupted, putting on his jacket and moving to leave, "so if that's what you want to do, why don't we just say it was nice catching up and I'll see you around?"

"Wait," was all Blaine could think of to say, but it was enough. Sebastian sat back down expectantly. "We didn't even catch up, we could at least—"

"Oh, don't even pretend that's what this was about," Sebastian said, growing impatient and disgusted. "I'm not an idiot. Neither are you.

"Or so I thought," he added when Blaine said nothing. "Well, we'd better get going; I've got office hours. I'll drop you off at your car."

They left the coffee shop; in an uncharacteristically gentlemanly gesture, Sebastian even held the door for Blaine, who in addition to feeling as frustrated as ever was now confused and guilty about the whole thing.

"Sebastian, I'm—" Blaine started to say once they got in the car.

"Don't apologize," Sebastian cut him off. "I am glad I got to see you," he added, his eyes locking with Blaine's.

Blaine waited for him to start the car, but his gaze lingered tantalizingly, and Blaine's stomach flip-flopped when he realized that Sebastian was giving him an opening, a last chance. Blaine remained still for what seemed like an eternity, trying desperately to remember all the reasons that this was a terrible idea, but his mind went blank, powerless in the face of Sebastian's undeniable allure. Finally he seized the opportunity and kissed Sebastian firmly, feeling like an invisible weight was lifting off his shoulders as he released all his pent-up passion. Sebastian happily reciprocated, pushing back into the kiss with equal force and bringing a hand to Blaine's face. Their lips remained locked until the car windows began to fog up, and then they broke apart breathlessly.

"We should get back," Blaine said, scrambling to regain his sense of propriety, "for your office hours."

Sebastian smirked and put the car in gear. "Fuck office hours."

* * *

><p>AN: Ohhhh shit this is not looking good for Blaine, huh? Thanks errbody so much for reading; I really appreciate it!


	6. December, Part Two

"My place," Sebastian announced, pulling into a numbered parking spot next to a surprisingly modest-looking apartment complex. "Want to come up?"

Blaine hesitated, despite being more than a little aroused by this point. "I shouldn't."

"Then it's a good thing I didn't ask if you should. I asked if you wanted to."

Blaine didn't know if it was the cold medicine, the months of sexual frustration, or the hungry look in Sebastian's eyes that made him say yes, but that's exactly what he did. Before he knew it, he and Sebastian were feverishly kissing and groping inside Sebastian's apartment, and Blaine wasn't sure whether he was feeling light-headed because of the three flights of stairs he had climbed to get there, or because of the knowledge that he was about to have sex with one of the most attractive men he had ever met.

"I should warn you—" Blaine said as he frantically unbuttoned Sebastian's shirt in between hungry kisses, "I think—I'm coming down with something."

"That's okay—" Sebastian replied, gasping for breath. "Shit—you have no idea how long—I've fantasized about ripping off—that bow tie."

And that's what he did, more or less, untying the bright red strip of fabric around Blaine's neck but not removing it completely, instead grabbing both ends and using it to guide Blaine toward the bed, which was not far in the small studio apartment. Not until Sebastian had fallen backward onto the white comforter and pulled Blaine on top of him did he strip the bow tie out from Blaine's collar and let it fall to the floor, forgotten as they both found new distractions.

"Do you want to fuck me, Blaine?" Sebastian's question almost became rhetorical as he unbuckled Blaine's belt and removed his pants.

"Yes," Blaine said without hesitation, Sebastian's complete unraveling turning him on more than anything had in a long time. "Oh god, yes."

It took a while for Sebastian to lube himself up, as Blaine kept pestering him with needy, lingering kisses all along his torso. When he finished he draped his legs over Blaine's shoulders rather than rolling over, which came as a pleasant surprise to Blaine. Blaine, although eager, inserted just one finger into Sebastian, eliciting an impatient sigh.

"Goddammit, just fuck me already!"

Blaine was happy to oblige, and the shout of pleasure Sebastian released as Blaine penetrated him was almost enough to make him come immediately. And between the obscene noises Sebastian continued to make as Blaine thrust desperately and the novelty of being able to see the rapt look on his face and the sweat glistening on his chest, Blaine didn't last long anyway. After he finished, Sebastian pulled him down into a long, passionate kiss. The blissful afterglow only lasted a moment though, because the next thing Sebastian said made Blaine instinctively tense.

"Now I'm gonna fuck you."

The wheels were spinning in Blaine's head as he weight potential replies, but the truth must have been evident on his face because Sebastian guessed it immediately.

"Holy shit, you've never had a dick up your ass, have you?" he said. "Well, I can't say I'm too surprised, considering. I guess you can just—"

"No," Blaine interrupted, feeling elated but hungry for more, "I want you to fuck me."

Sebastian smirked and got out the lube.

* * *

><p>"I'm home," Kurt announced in a sing-song voice. He entered the living room to find Blaine propped up on the couch with a blanket and a box of tissues, <em>Project Runway<em> playing on tv. "How do you feel?"

"Better," Blaine admitted.

"See? I told you; all you needed was a little break, and now you'll be good as new before you know it."

Blaine sighed and attempted a smile. "I hope so."

* * *

><p>By the next morning, Blaine's symptoms did seem to have evaporated. He went about his morning routine as usual, but instead of going to work he headed to the coffee shop Sebastian had introduced him to the previous day. Once he was there he called in sick again, ordered a medium drip from the surly barista, and reflected on the events of the previous twenty-four hours, which were already beginning to seem like a delirious fever dream. When he started to feel like he had outstayed his welcome at the shop he drove through town to the university.<p>

Blaine wasn't exactly sure what he expected to get out of the visit; all he really wanted was confirmation that the tryst had actually happened, that it wasn't just the product of an overactive and desperate imagination, and maybe just to talk.

He definitely didn't anticipate opening Sebastian's office door to find Sebastian standing behind his desk with his fly down, a skinny young blond sucking his cock.

"Blaine," Sebastian said with a tone of pleasant surprise, not seeming the least bit put out by the interruption. "Could you give me like two minutes?"

Blaine was so shocked that he could only nod in agreement. He shut the door and contemplated simply leaving, not sure whether it was anger or desire that ultimately made him wait in the hallway. Sure enough, it wasn't long before the blond boy emerged, walking away swiftly with his eyes downcast.

"What the fuck?" Blaine said as he burst back into the office.

"It's nice to see you too," Sebastian replied, now seated at his desk and composed as ever.

"Who the fuck was that?" Blaine demanded, Sebastian's lack of emotion only serving to rile him further.

"Oh, come on," Sebastian said. "You didn't seriously think you were the only one, did you? That I've just been sitting around all these years, waiting for Blaine Anderson to waltz back into my life and sweep me off my feet? Nobody's that naïve. Not even you."

Blaine could feel his face turning red and hot with embarrassment and anger. He took a deep breath, and his voice was low and steady when he began to speak. "This might all be a game to you, but it's not to me. It's real life, with real consequences. God, Sebastian, can't you see how your actions affect people?"

"Hey, you came to me, remember?" Sebastian pointed out. "I had fun yesterday, and I'm pretty sure you did too. If you want to do it again, I'm game. But I never promised anything more than sex, so don't expect it. Any other issues you've got are between you and your conscience."

Blaine tried and failed to think of a reply, settling for an apology instead. "Sorry for taking up your time."

"Don't sweat it," Sebastian said. There was a subtle, uncharacteristic shift toward sympathy in his demeanor as he met Blaine's eyes and seemed to sense the inner turmoil that was brewing behind them. "I hope you figure things out, Blaine. I really do."

* * *

><p>AN: Oh goshhhh idk. Thanks again so much for reading; I hope you enjoy!


	7. January

"What do you mean, you're not coming to karaoke night?" Kurt asked, looking as horrified as if Blaine had just announced that he had killed a puppy.

Blaine shrugged, pushing the remains of his fettucine alfredo around his plate unenthusiastically. "I'm just not in the mood, I guess."

"But you've never not been in the mood for karaoke before," Kurt said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Blaine insisted. He saw Kurt's jaw clench and the color rise in his cheeks and knew from past experience that he was about to really start prying, so he quickly came up with an excuse. "It's just that the other singers always seem so…amateurish. Especially compared to you."

"True," Kurt conceded, responding well to the flattery as usual. "Are you sure you don't want to go?"

"I'm sure."

"Oh, alright. I guess it wouldn't hurt us to miss one week."

"No, you go," Blaine suggested. "I know how much you like it; I just don't want to spoil your fun with my lack of enthusiasm, that's all."

"And leave you home alone?"

"I'll be fine," Blaine said as he began to clear the table. "See? I'll even do the dishes. Then maybe catch up on _American Idol_… I'm thinking about coming up with a drinking game for all the creepy things Steven Tyler says to female contestants."

"Well, it sounds like you've really thought this out," Kurt observed, carrying his own plate and glass to the sink. "And I certainly don't want to stand in the way of your fun."

"The real fun will be when you get home," Blaine said lustily, putting his arms around Kurt's waist and pulling him in close. Kurt responded with a laugh and a light kiss on the lips before freeing himself.

"Gotta go change, then I'll be off," Kurt announced as he headed down the hallway toward the bedroom. Blaine looked up from the dishes at exactly the right moment to see Kurt poke his head back around the corner, a playfully seductive expression on his face. "But you will wait up for me, won't you?"

Blaine grinned. "Of course."

* * *

><p>With Kurt gone, the house seemed strangely quiet and empty. Blaine didn't know what to do with himself once he finished tidying up the kitchen so he just stood there for, well, he didn't even know how long. The physical inaction was a visual representation of the numbness he had been feeling for months, a continual state of apathy interrupted only by the shame and guilt that overwhelmed him whenever he thought about his ongoing infidelity.<p>

Blaine had been certain when he left Sebastian's office that day in December that he would never see him again. He felt foolish and used and embarrassed at his indiscretion, but the more he thought about it the more he found himself grateful to Sebastian for at least making him feel something, for providing at least one interesting plot twist to Blaine's hopelessly flat, gray story.

So he went back, again and again, whenever he was certain he could get away with it. He was dimly aware that his cheating certainly constituted some sort of grave character flaw, and that if he was more like Kurt, for example, he never would have done it in the first place.

But really, Blaine had never been the courageous one. He loved the way Sebastian made him feel wanted, the naked, unashamed expressions of desperate desire as they writhed between the sheets, or hungrily fucked in Sebastian's office, or even (once, stupidly) hastily jerked each other off in the coffee shop bathroom. And he hated that he loved it, spiraling viciously downward into a cycle of self-loathing with no end in sight.

He knew he couldn't talk to Sebastian about any of this; he hadn't even tried to since the beginning. He appreciated the simplicity of their arrangement: Sebastian was truly an animal of the most primal instincts, only concerned with eating, sleeping, and—mostly—fucking. He never asked Blaine any questions, seeming content to know that for whatever reason and for however long, Blaine needed him.

Blaine tried to avoid thinking about what would happen if Kurt found out. He kept telling himself he would break it off with Sebastian, after this time, for sure, and Kurt would never have to know. Even keeping a big, ugly secret for the rest of his life seemed infinitely preferable to the relationship-ending argument Blaine felt certain would ensue if Kurt ever realized the truth.

Instead, he tried in vain to overcompensate for his (hideously awful, glaring) fault by smothering Kurt with affection. He doted on Kurt at every opportunity, and forced himself to meet his (heartbreakingly trusting, loving) gaze even when he felt nearly paralyzed by guilt. It didn't work, of course, but Blaine felt so hopelessly out of control of his own life that he couldn't even begin to imagine the herculean effort it would take to change it. He was like a pebble rolling down the side of a mountain, accumulating ice and snow and dirt and debris until it became unrecognizable, careening hazardously downhill until…?

Blaine jolted himself out of his reverie. He knew where that metaphor ended, and he wasn't ready to go there yet.

So now what? His intention in ducking out on karaoke night had obviously been to free himself for yet another tryst, but now that the opportunity was actually here, he found that he couldn't stomach the thought. It suddenly occurred to him that he could just do what he had told Kurt he was going to do, and the fact that honesty seemed like such a novelty only served to nauseate him further.

Blaine's phone beeped to alert him of a new text message from Kurt:

_The amateurs are out en masse tonite, wish you were here! I love you. _

Blaine smiled to himself and responded:

_LOL well have fun! I love you too._

As he sent the message he sank to the tiled floor and began silently crying, because in typing the words he had realized that they were absolutely, irrevocably true, and that he had fucked everything up so badly that he was about to lose it all.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh goshhhhhh well I guess maybe it is a love story after all! I think things are prolly gonna get worse before they get better tho... Thanks so much for reading and reviewing and most of all for being patient! Definitely don't hesitate to drop me a line if you've got somethin to say! K luv u byeeeeee.


	8. February, Part One

Valentine's Day had always been sort of a mixed bag for Blaine and Kurt. Even though they always had the best and most romantic of intentions, something—Blaine's own hopeless naïveté, an unfortunate slushie, a historically severe bout of winter weather—always seemed to spoil their plans.

This year, Blaine determined, would be the exception. He insisted on doing all the planning and decided to keep things simple, mainly to reduce the chance for catastrophe. Just dinner at their favorite restaurant and then a cozy night at home, a couple of glasses of wine, some candlelight, _et voilà_. He had learned from experience that it was better to play it safe than to try for something big and fail spectacularly.

Well, he had sort of learned. As Blaine and Kurt finished their meal, the waiter reappeared not with a check, but with a guitar. Kurt shot Blaine a quizzical expression but Blaine just shrugged, playing dumb until the very last second as the server-turned-musician began to play.

_Give me more lovin' than I've ever had  
>Make it all better when I'm feelin' sad<br>Tell me that I'm special even when I know I'm not_

Blaine sang, making Kurt bury his face in his hands in embarrassment. But Blaine knew Kurt couldn't miss this, and sure enough he looked up after a moment, red-faced but grinning.

_Make me feel good when I hurt so bad  
>Barely gettin' mad, I'm so glad I found you<br>I love bein' around you  
>You make it easy<em>

As he launched into the chorus, Blaine stood up and crossed the table to Kurt, offering his hand. Kurt accepted it and stood as well, joining Blaine in a playful semi-slow dance around the restaurant.

_There's only one thing to do  
>Three words for you: I love you<br>There's only one way to say  
>Those three words and that's what I'll do<em>

They continued dancing through the song, and when it ended Blaine looked at Kurt with anxious expectance.

"That was beautiful," Kurt said. "Thank you."

They hugged and shared a brief kiss, eliciting a chorus of "awws" from the other patrons that reminded Blaine that they were in public and made him suddenly self-conscious. Fortunately, Kurt as usual knew exactly the right thing to say.

"Check, please."

* * *

><p>"That was quite the performance," Kurt elaborated on the car ride home. "Just when I think you couldn't possibly surprise me..." he trailed off.<p>

"I'm glad you liked it," Blaine said. "It's been a while since I've done something like that outside of karaoke night; I was pretty nervous."

"I couldn't tell," Kurt assured him. "You're a natural, Blaine. Singing is what you were meant to do. It's a shame you couldn't—" he stopped short, but it was too late. Blaine's lack of musical success was the touchiest of subjects between them, and Blaine could feel his expression darken at the reminder.

"Your song was amazing," Kurt insisted, "and I love you."

Blaine smiled half-heartedly. "I love you, too."

* * *

><p>When they arrived home, all Blaine's vague plans involving wine and candlelight went out the window as it became obvious that Kurt's mind was focused on one thing. They had barely made it inside when Kurt began accosting Blaine with heavy, frantic kisses.<p>

"Blaine," he began to say, his words punctuated by heated lip locks, "I know— you wanted this— to be sweet— and romantic but— fuck— I just want you— to fuck me."

Blaine grinned, Kurt's rare dirty talk making him more passionate than he knew was possible. He swiftly stripped Kurt of his pants, several layers of sweaters, shirts, and undergarments, and roughly backed his naked form into the kitchen counter, cornering him in front of the sink. After a final long, hungry kiss that left Kurt gasping for breath, Blaine grabbed him by the shoulders and flipped him around. Fighting the overpowering urge to simply thrust his whole dick into Kurt's ass, Blaine forced himself to take a deep breath, wetted a single index finger, and slowly circled Kurt's entrance.

"Say that again," he instructed huskily, his breathing ragged and shallow.

"God dammit Blaine," he panted. "Fuck me!"

"I'm going to fuck you," Blaine said, using one hand to remove his own pants while continuing his ministrations on Kurt's asshole with the other, "on one condition."

"Fuck," Kurt said in frustration. "Anything, just tell me already."

Blaine stopped teasing Kurt and slid his finger into him, eliciting an almost inaudible gasp of pain and pleasure.

"No," Blaine said, his voice a raspy whisper. "None of that. Kurt, you gotta be loud."

He added a second and third finger and plunged them into Kurt, producing a satisfying "Fuck!" By this point Blaine's throbbing cock was practically screaming for attention, so he removed his fingers and entered Kurt, taking a moment to enjoy the sensation before he began to thrust. Ever-precocious Kurt followed Blaine's single instruction with enthusiasm, and only had to cry out Blaine's name once for him to come completely undone. Blaine collapsed against Kurt, spent and feeling more satisfied than he had for longer than he could remember. He realized that Kurt was still achingly hard when he saw him move to touch his own cock, and grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Come on," Blaine said, leading Kurt to the bedroom. Kurt eagerly helped him shed the rest of his clothes, so by the time they got there they were both naked and Kurt looked desperate for relief. They stopped their kissing and groping for a moment so Blaine could speak again.

"I love you, Kurt," he said breathlessly.

"I know," Kurt said. "And I love you. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Blaine said. "Nothing's the matter, Kurt, do you want to fuck me?"

The question stunned Kurt into silence for a moment. "But I thought you didn't—"

Blaine shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said, cutting Kurt off. "Do you want to?"

"Yes," Kurt breathed lustily.

"Then I want you to."

Kurt required a little coaching, as Blaine had suspected he would, but once he got the hang of it Blaine could simply close his eyes and enjoy the feeling of being fucked.

"Oh God, yes," Blaine moaned as just the right spot was hit. "Sebastian!"

* * *

><p>AN: Oh man I really couldn't help myself on this one, I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? Sorry if you hated it but just come back next time and everyone will be miserable again I promise! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, I really appreciate your feedback! Speaking of... To littleyellowchrysanthemum: I think Kurt and Blaine are probably in their mid-to-late twenties in this story, still pretty young but yeah that's a long time when you've been together since you were sixteen. To bluecharlotte: I think boredom is definitely a big part of Blaine's problem here, stemming from a larger issue of feeling like he's missing out on something or not living up to his potential. Sorry there probably weren't too many clues about what's motivating him in this chapter, hopefully I'll be able to give a better sense of his conflicting impulses in the future. Thank you for your comment!

K well this is getting a little tl;dr so bye for now! l-u-v madonna! O and btw the song in this chapter is Plain White T's "1234" obvi. Classic.


	9. February, Part Two

"What did you say?" Kurt stopped short, the moment clearly over.

"What?" Blaine said, sweat-drenched and breathing heavily. "Nothing."

But Kurt wasn't buying it. "Who's Sebastian?" he demanded as he got dressed.

Blaine could feel his heart beating in his throat, trying to swallow the sick feeling of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. This was it. The avalanche was about to bury him alive, and he was powerless to stop it.

"You know who he is," was all he could say. It was agonizing to watch as Kurt's confusion became clarity, and then became confusion of a different kind.

"Sebastian Smythe?" Kurt confirmed. "That jerk from high school is here? How do you know him? Why—" He paused as his voice began to quaver with emotion, seeming understandably reluctant to put what had just happened into words, as if refusing to speak it would keep it from being real.

"He's here," Blaine said, surprised at how calm and reasonable his own voice sounded. "He's a professor at Cornell. We met at karaoke." He swallowed hard, bracing himself for the effect that his next sentence would have on Kurt.

"I've been sleeping with him for the past two months."

Kurt seemed to collapse on himself, sinking to the floor with his hands over his face as he began to sob. Blaine felt strange, as if he was an outside observer to the whole scene, or having a dream from which he was about to wake up. He was sure that he was supposed to be having some sort of reaction, but he felt just as numb as ever.

"Kurt, I—"

"Shut up," Kurt interrupted him, looking up with red, watering eyes as he spoke quietly but firmly.

Seeing the enormous effort Kurt was making to compose himself, his fierce pride and unflagging determination to simply carry on even in this darkest of moments, was what finally stoked the flame in Blaine's heart and prompted him to try again.

"I'm sorry," he said, meeting Kurt's eyes unflinchingly in an attempt to convey the truth behind his words. "Kurt, I am so, so sorry. I'm an idiot, and I don't know what I was thinking. But I do know one thing. I know that I love you."

Kurt, who had been keeping it together remarkably well, started to come apart again at Blaine's last sentence. "I wish I could believe that," he managed to say before starting to cry again.

All Blaine's instincts were telling him to try to comfort Kurt, to reestablish their physical connection, as if that could somehow bridge the giant chasm that had opened between them. He moved down off the bed, only vaguely aware of the fact that he was still naked, and tried to touch Kurt's shoulder. But Kurt shied, so he stopped and began to get dressed instead.

"You have to leave," Kurt said flatly, still huddled on the floor with a thousand-yard stare in his eyes.

One look at him and Blaine knew that there was nothing he could do or say to fix this, at least not tonight.

"Okay," he said, and left.

* * *

><p>Blaine drove around in a daze for what felt like minutes but was really hours. He had smoked almost a whole pack of cigarettes by the time his head cleared enough for him to realize that he was only delaying the inevitable.<p>

"Fuck," he said out loud, tossing his last butt out the window and throwing the car into reverse.

* * *

><p>Sebastian answered the door quickly when Blaine knocked and appeared to be bright-eyed and wide awake, so Blaine's fears about rousing him from slumber at 2 a.m. were alleviated.<p>

"Blaine," he said with a surprised smile. "It's been a while. You didn't text. I have a guest already, but hey, three's company, right?"

"That's not why I'm here," Blaine said. "Kurt kicked me out."

"On Valentine's Day, no less," Sebastian observed, clearly enjoying Blaine's discomfort as he leaned against the doorframe. "Must have been bad."

"He found out about us."

Sebastian's bemused expression turned serious. "Look, Blaine, how many times do I have to tell you? There's no 'us.' I'm not that guy. You can't stay here."

Blaine started to protest. "I didn't—"

"I'm doing you a favor," Sebastian interrupted him, the smirk starting to creep back into his expression. "Goodbye, Blaine," he added and shut the door, leaving Blaine alone in the night again.

* * *

><p>He saw that a downstairs light was on, so he steeled himself to approach the door and knock.<p>

"Who's there?" a female voice responded somewhat shrilly. "If it's the cops, you should know that I broke up with Tony as soon as I found out he was doing that stuff, and I've got no idea where he is now."

"It's not the cops," Blaine said, trying to peer through the door's small decorative window. "It's Blaine. From work."

He heard several locks being unfastened, then the door opened and Lindsay greeted him with a warm smile. "Hi, sweetie!"

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Blaine asked.

"Nope," Lindsay said with a goofy grin that tipped him off to the fact that she was slightly tipsy. "It's just me and my friends pinot and grigio."

She made her way rather precariously to the living room and Blaine assumed it was okay for him to follow, watching with amusement in spite of everything as she happily flopped down on the sofa. Several partially empty bottles of wine littered the floor and coffee table. Blaine held his breath as Lindsay poured an alarmingly full glass and held it out to him, but she didn't spill a drop. He accepted the drink and obliged when she motioned for him to sit beside her.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" she asked.

Blaine sensed such genuine concern in her voice that he couldn't help but spill the whole awful story. Lindsay was a surprisingly sympathetic listener, but when he finished talking Blaine felt more hopeless and miserable than ever.

"I know I fucked up," he said, feeling a slight buzz from the wine. "I know I did. And I'm so afraid I won't be able to fix it. Shit, I have to talk to Kurt," he suddenly decided as he fumbled for his phone.

"Oh, no you don't," a sobering Lindsay replied, snatching Blaine's phone away. "Not now, anyway."

"But what should I do?" Blaine asked desperately.

"Sleep it off, sweetie," she said as she stood up and tossed a blanket in his direction. "Things will look better in the morning."

Lindsay must have realized that the advice did little to console Blaine, because she sat back down and offered some more. "Look, I don't know a goddamn thing about functional relationships," she said, putting a comforting hand on his knee, "but I do know that if you love Kurt as much as you say you do, you gotta get him back."

* * *

><p>AN: Oh my gosh, thank you guys so much for your feedback, you seriously have no idea how much I appreciate it. I'm really enjoying this and I hope you are too! Don't forget to leave a review if you have any questions/comments/concerns and I'll try to address them as best I can. Thanks for reading!


	10. March

Of course, Blaine thought as he lay on the cheap hotel comforter and stared up at the ceiling as he was sure so many others before him who had taken advantage of the place's weekly rates had done, of course it took losing Kurt to figure out how much he loved him. At least now a set of problems that had seemed overwhelmingly complex, perhaps even insurmountable, had boiled down to one simple goal: Get Kurt back.

Which was proving much easier said than done, as evidenced by the fact that two weeks after the big reveal Blaine was living in a hotel room. All his attempts at communication had been met with brutal silence, his countless phone calls and texts unanswered. Blaine still had his key, but he hadn't been back to the house since the day after the incident, when he had taken advantage of a time when he knew Kurt would be teaching to collect some of his clothes and toiletries. He took only the essentials, just enough to get by, and wondered whether Kurt had noticed and if so what he felt. An overwhelming sadness, maybe, the missing toothbrush one of a thousand daily reminders of Blaine's unfathomable betrayal. Or perhaps just a sense of relief that he wouldn't have to look in the eyes of the person who had so carelessly broken his heart.

Blaine tried not to think about it too much, but there was little to distract him from the dilemma. Work was torture, his daily tasks so mindless that they provided no diversion whatsoever. Lindsay had tried to encourage him at first, but even she quickly became fed up with his continual depression and maddening lack of action. After work he went back to the hotel—refusing to call it "home" even in his own thoughts—to eat microwave dinners and watch the same evening news three times. Going to bed was a pointless charade, a futile pursuit of sleep that never, ever came.

* * *

><p>"Hey Anderson, the building's on fire."<p>

"What?" Blaine said, suddenly getting the feeling that Larry had been speaking to him for a while now.

Larry let out a short, scoffing laugh, triggering a coughing fit that wracked his heavyset frame. "Look, Anderson," he finally recovered enough to continue, "I don't know what's up with you lately. And I don't care. But you're almost a week behind on reports, so get it together. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," Blaine replied as Larry waddled away.

Lindsay, who had been watching the exchange with a look of faint amusement, got up to take her mid-morning smoke break. She stopped at Blaine's desk on her way, leaning down so she could meet him at eye level when she spoke.

"Go talk to him," she said firmly, her tone precluding any possibility for debate. "Tonight."

* * *

><p>Blaine sat in his car outside the house—well, down the street, actually—for a long time, watching the shadows of the trees and lampposts elongate as the orange sky turned to the eerie blue half-light of evening and finally darkened completely. There was something comforting about the anonymity of nighttime, the darkness that kept all secrets and gave Blaine the courage to at last approach the house. He felt strange walking up to the front door, an entrance usually reserved for guests and salesmen, but he did it anyway.<p>

Blaine's finger hovered a moment over the doorbell, his anxiety doing its best to cripple him to the very last, but he took a deep breath and rang it. Noises from inside reached Blaine dimly through the door, and with an awful sinking feeling he realized that there was more than one person inside the house, a voice in a lower register responding to Kurt's familiar tenor.

Blaine also became aware that the lower voice was getting louder, and that it was this stranger who would answer the door. He tried not to panic; the possibility that there was someone else hadn't entered into any of the hundreds of scenarios for this moment he had played out in his head.

The door opened. It took a moment for Blaine's eyes to adjust to the suddenly bright backlighting, the figure in the door frame looming dark before him, so the shock of recognition was slightly delayed.

"Mr. Hummel," Blaine said, in surprise as much as in greeting. He could tell by the hardening of Burt's expression and the stiffening of his posture that this was not going to be a pleasant reunion.

Burt stepped outside and shut the door behind him. "Blaine," he said coldly. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to Kurt," he said, hoping he was imagining the note of desperation he heard in his own voice.

Burt shook his head. "That's not going to happen," he said as he turned to go back inside.

"Please," Blaine added, the tone of his plea stopping Burt short. "He won't return any of my calls. I know I— I know I messed up," he faltered, his emotions getting the best of him. "But if I could just talk to him, I know I can make it right. I have to."

Blaine had no idea why Burt would take pity on him, the heartless bastard who had broken his son's heart, but that's exactly what he seemed to be doing.

"Let's go have a drink," Burt suggested, and Blaine, seeing the wisdom in taking what he could get, nodded his agreement.

* * *

><p>As Blaine and Burt sat at the hotel bar, Blaine caught their reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bartender and couldn't help but observe that they made an odd couple: Burt in his worn-out baseball cap and flannel, ever the blue collar man even after his time in Congress; Blaine looking, as always, much more put together than he felt, the picture of success he had never achieved. Neither of them was actually drinking, Burt for his physical health and Blaine for mental; he had learned the hard way that the combination of alcohol and recent events put him in a dangerous state of mind. They had selected the bar because it was clean and quiet, and, Blaine suspected, because there were comfortable social norms for them to fall back on if need be, the familiar script of drinking buddies.<p>

Not that any of that really helped, Blaine thought as he sipped his iced tea and wished it were something stronger. He still had no idea what to say. Fortunately it was Burt who broke the silence.

"When Kurt's mom passed away, I didn't know what to say," he began in the low, even tone Blaine had heard him use a thousand times on Kurt when he was telling him something important, when he wanted to make sure Kurt really understood. "What can you say to a kid who's just lost something so big? I had no idea, and it was awful. But somehow we got through it, and I swore that I would never let my son go through something like that again. I thought it was my job to protect him from everything, all the bad stuff out there. I knew I wouldn't be able to, but I could sure as hell try."

Burt paused for a drink of water. "Do you remember what I said when you asked for my permission to marry Kurt?"

"I do," Blaine said. "You asked, 'Are you sure this is going to be forever?'"

"And you said?"

"Of course it is."

"Because?"

"Because I love your son."

The silence was agonizing for Blaine but he waited anyway, sensing that Burt wasn't finished.

"I was never too thrilled about the idea of Kurt getting hitched," Burt continued. "To anyone. I know shit happens in relationships and I didn't want him to get hurt. And you were his first…everything, and I guess maybe I thought he should explore his options a little more. But he told me he loved you, and you told me you loved him, and you guys seemed good for each other, so I gave you my blessing. I knew you'd probably face some tough stuff, but I was sure that you would deal with it together. So when Kurt told me what happened, and I didn't know what to say, again…"

Burt stopped to collect himself. "Do you still love my son?"

"Yes," Blaine replied insistently, with all the force he could put into the single word.

"Then why'd you do it, Blaine?" Burt asked. "Why did you cheat on him?"

Blaine hesitated. "I don't know," he finally said, and realized immediately that it was a mistake. He should have known that Burt would be able to sense his evasion of the difficult subject.

"If you don't want to tell me, that's fine," Burt said to Blaine's relief. "But whatever it is you're dealing with, whatever it was that was so awful about your life that you thought this would make it better, you've got to figure it out on your own. Because getting back together with Kurt won't fix it. And I won't let you break his heart again."

* * *

><p>AN: Hey guys, thank you so much for reading! And seriously, I really appreciate your reviews and everything so much; I know that last chapter might have been a little rough but thanks for sticking with it! Hopefully this one was worth your while. :) Anyway, for sure let me know what you think! Kluvubye.


	11. April

It was strange how much colder and meaner the city seemed to Blaine now than it had only a few years ago. He vaguely wondered if this was a metaphor for how he'd changed over the same time but didn't have the energy for self-examination at the moment, exhausted as he was at the end of another 12-hour shift at the sandwich shop. The long days were awful, but necessary if he wanted to make rent on the closet-sized cold water apartment he was subleasing from a fairly shady character called Smith, who wandered the halls of the dilapidated building with a sad-looking bulldog in tow and insisted on being paid in cash every week.

"Oh my god, what am I doing here?" Blaine asked himself out loud for what felt like the thousandth time since the night of his conversation with Burt. At the time, it had seemed so obvious what he had to do: Immediately after Burt left, Blaine had gone up to his room and swiftly packed his few belongings, then unceremoniously checked out of the hotel and struck out for New York, where he had felt certain he would finally make it if he just tried hard enough.

The problem with last time, he had reasoned, was that he had simply not been giving it one hundred percent; that, in fact, being hopelessly in love with Kurt—while lovely—had distracted him from his other goals and made him lose his performance edge. But he was going to be a star, goddammit, and it was only a matter of time before somebody at some audition or open mic recognized his potential and gave him his shot. And, well, once he was rich and famous, winning Kurt back would be a piece of cake.

But Blaine quickly realized that he had forgotten what it meant to be a starving artist, namely that it was a lot more romantic in theory than it was in practice. He worked all day, sang wherever he could get a gig, felt tired and hungry all the time, made barely enough money to scrape by, and still felt no closer to his dreams than he had in his cubicle in Ithaca. He was lonelier and more miserable than ever, but any time he felt himself slipping into hopeless self-pity all he had to do was think about Kurt, and his determination and sense of purpose returned in full force.

So even though all Blaine wanted to do now was strip off his condiment-stained uniform, fall face down on the bare mattress that took up most of the apartment's floor space and sleep for days, he forced himself to shower, shave, and get dressed in his most presentable clothes for yet another open mic night. Looking in the cracked bathroom mirror, he forced a smile and decided that in spite of everything, he still looked bankable.

"I'd sign me," he said with as much conviction as he could manage, checking his hair one last time before leaving the building to brave the unfriendly New York City night.

* * *

><p>"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," the bored-looking hostess announced unenthusiastically to the sparsely populated bar, "next up is," she paused to check her clipboard, squinting in the dim lighting, "Blair Anderson. Come on up, Blair."<p>

Blaine worked his way to the stage to a smattering of applause, which died well before he reached the slightly raised platform.

"Thank you," he said, wincing as the microphone emitted a high-pitched feedback. "Uh, it's Blaine, actually. But I'm so glad to be here tonight—"

"Sing your song!" someone heckled from the darkness.

"Okay right, yeah," Blaine said, trying hard not to get flustered. "Um, I gave someone my CD when I came in, so I guess, uh, maybe whoever's in charge of that could like… cue the music?" he finished uncertainly, and breathed a sigh of relief when sound came flooding through the speakers a moment later.

His relief was short-lived, however, as he quickly realized that he didn't recognize the song playing. "No, sorry, this is the wrong track," he said over the music. "It should be in a clear case, with the words 'One More Chance' written on it… No?" The DJ shrugged and shook his head, and the audience was losing patience by the second. Blaine had enough open mic experience to know that by the time the music got sorted out, their goodwill would be completely gone; better to just cut his losses now.

"Okay well, thanks anyway," he said. "Have a good night." Blaine earned his most enthusiastic applause of the evening as he left the stage without singing a note.

* * *

><p>Whether it was because he was upset by the disastrous open mic night, or distracted by the cigarette he was trying to light as he stepped into the street, Blaine didn't see the car coming until it was too late to do anything but stare blankly into the headlights as the sound of a frantically honking horn rang in his ears.<p>

Then the world went dark.

* * *

><p>For a brief, wild moment upon opening his eyes, Blaine honestly thought he had died. But then he adjusted to the bright fluorescent lighting and realized that he was in a hospital room.<p>

"Hi," said a familiar voice from somewhere to Blaine's right.

Blaine turned his head in the direction of the sound, barely able to process the fact that Kurt was here sitting at his bedside as if nothing had ever happened, wishing he had the strength to do more than smile weakly at him.

"Hi," he replied, his voice hardly more than a whisper. Kurt seemed as exhausted as Blaine felt, his eyes red and swollen as if he had been crying. "What happened?"

"You got hit by a car," Kurt reminded him, speaking softly and gently. "You have a couple of bruised ribs and a mild concussion, but nothing too serious."

Blaine suddenly became aware of a vague, dull pain in his chest. He tried to breathe in deeply and the pain sharpened, making him cringe.

"Do you need more pain meds?" Kurt asked, noting Blaine's expression with concern. "I can call the nurse…"

"I'm fine," Blaine insisted. "How did you even know…?"

"The hospital notified me when you got here," Kurt explained. "They didn't know how bad it was at first, so I came down right away. When the doctor said that you might not wake up…" he broke off, too overcome with emotion to continue.

"Kurt, I—"

"Stop," Kurt cut him off, regaining his composure. "Whatever you want to say, it can wait. I know we were having…issues," he said carefully, "but we can deal with that later. Because when I thought I might have lost you forever, I realized I just couldn't stand it, Blaine. I couldn't. So why don't you just come home?"

Blaine couldn't really describe what he felt at that moment; his emotions were a jumbled mess and his mind was reeling as he tried to process everything that had happened and found that he simply couldn't. He was surprised to find that words seemed to be coming out of his mouth, despite the fact that he didn't remember making a conscious decision to speak.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt," he was saying. "I've wanted to tell you that ever since that night; I kept trying to call but you wouldn't answer, so I didn't know what to do, and then your dad scared the shit out of me—"

"My dad?" Kurt interrupted in confusion.

"It's a long story," Blaine assured him. They lapsed into silence, but it felt so good and comfortable and right that Blaine didn't mind at all.

"I know I was being difficult," Kurt finally said, "but couldn't there have been an easier way to get my attention than jumping in front of a car?"

It was a dark attempt at humor, but Blaine laughed until his ribs hurt anyway. He had to stop to assure Kurt that he really didn't need any pain meds, that he was crying tears of relief and happiness as the unbearable weight he had been carrying on his shoulders for months seemed to simply evaporate.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh gosh it's been a while, huh? To be honest this is usually about the point where I lose motivation/momentum but I am fairly determined to see this one through to completion; there are probably about five chapters left to give you a little bit of an idea about what to expect in the (hopefully) near future. Thank you so much for reading, and as always please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! I'll try to respond as best I can. :)


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